


Cranberry Jelly

by Courfeyrock_crushes_scissors



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fashion AU, M/M, NO ONE KNOWS, designer yurio, how did yurio have a kid?, i might add more pairings later, idk idk idk, nanny otabek, nanny/single parent au, single parent yurio, so uh, there will be other skaters but they're not skaters, they're parents?, this accidentally turned into a fashion au, this is clearly many years in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courfeyrock_crushes_scissors/pseuds/Courfeyrock_crushes_scissors
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky did not imagine his life would be this way at the age of twenty.A child himself, he couldn't imagine having a daughter, but here she was. With his own career in fashion rising, he barely had time to feed himself, much less a toddler that relied on him for everything.It was time to call in the professionals.That's where Otabek Altin came in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll this is my first yuri on ice fic so don't murder me, pls and thanks

 

_Some people believed in miracles of God. Yuri Plisetsky believed that what he had accomplished was not a miracle, but really, a final payoff of his own genius._

_Yuri Plisetsky was barely twenty in March of this year, and yet he had managed to sky rocket to the top of a fashion empire in the span of only a few years. A true genius of his time, the magazines boasted. It had been a tough time, trying to bring bold patterns like tiger print back into fashion, but Yuri had done it._

The alarm clock was blaring in his ear, but that wasn't the thing that awoke Yuri this morning. It never was. Why could he never seem to sleep up until the alarm? If he slept a solid eight hours at any point, it would be a miracle. Of course, the screaming monstrosity was only being drowned out by the  _other_ screaming monstrosity in his bedroom. A heavy weight was settled on his back, and he couldn't ignore it - er,  _her_ much longer. 

"Serafima," he groaned into his pillow, blonde hair sprawled across the deep maroon pillowcase. It had since grown from it's tousled blonde bob as it had been in his youth. The same hair his daughter now possessed on her own head. "Please. Papa has a headache." 

She was screaming. When wasn't she screaming? She only came in two settings: sleeping, and screaming. At the age of three, she was a talkative girl, with the beautiful blonde hair of her father and the fierce eyes of her mother. 

Ah yes, her mother. Her eyes were really the only thing Yuri could remember of the night he had decided to shake things up. A dumbass, seventeen-year-old decision, but here he was now. Several glasses of champagne and falling into bed had confirmed two things for him that night: he was a lightweight, and that he really was as gay as he remembered.

But a newborn dropped off at his home merely nine months later had shocked him as much as it did everyone else in his life. No sign from the woman, rumored to be a number of different women by the media (a model, a fashion designer, a fashion blogger, a prostitute?), but not even Yuri really knew who it was. All he knew was Serafima was his daughter, there was no doubt about that. 

"Papa!" She shrieked, tugging on the hair that hung to his back. Though she was a beautiful child, she was a moody child; and while this did concern Yuri slightly, he chalked it up to genetics. Weren't toddlers supposed to be happy all the time? Oh well. 

"Yes, 'Fima." He grumbled into the pillow. 

"Hungry." 

Yuri managed to drag himself from his warm bed, scooping up his toddler and holding her the way one might carry a soccer ball under their arm. She shrieked, kicking her legs and squirming. 

This was their morning routine. It seemed that Serafima rarely slept in her own bed; well, when was a time he had really let her? Yuri wasn't the warmest of people, but he proved to be a helicopter parent. He cared for her and loved her. If he was good with words, he would say she was his everything. But Yuri was not good with feelings, and mostly told everyone she was an okay kid. 

"What do you want for breakfast, Serafima," he asked, popping her into her booster seat at the kitchen table. His place in Moscow was smaller than his summer place in New York, or his vacation home in Hasetsu. It was quaint; enough for the two of them, really. It was more modest than most assumed Yuri Plisetsky's home would be. Sure, he had splurged on marble kitchen countertops, but how was someone going to prepare authentic pirozhkis on a shitty countertop? 

The couch in the corner of the living room was from his original home; a little place with his grandfather just outside of the city. Memories were embedded in every fiber of that couch. Who needed fancy leather couches anyway? Serafima would only ruin it anyway, the little stain monster. 

"Porridge!" She slammed her hands down on the table. "Jam." She leveled him with a look that was all business. To say Yuri was not afraid of that look sometimes, would be a lie. 

"And how do we ask nicely?" He said, raising an eyebrow. 

"NOW." She shrieked, before bursting into laughter. What a brat, right?

Yuri shook his head, a faint chuckle on his own lips, before plucking her up and holding her on his hip. "Help papa make breakfast," he instructed her; having her pour the grain into the pot, and stir the bubbling porridge. This thrilled her to no end, of course - helping papa with breakfast was her favorite thing to do in the morning, besides yanking on his hair. 

It reminded him of his own childhood - helping his grandfather make blinis in the kitchen. It was time consuming, yes, but always delicious. 

Yuri was pulled from his daydream as his phone began ringing. He didn't quite catch the look of disapproval his three-year-old was sending him. He answered, holding the phone between ear and shoulder, and barely balancing the squirming child in his arms. 

"Mila-- this is not a good time." He grumbled into his phone. Yuri wouldn't call Mila Babicheva his assistant; one, she would probably hit him. Two, she did a shit more than just run and get him coffee. She was basically his lifesaver. Speaking of coffee...

"Is it ever a good time?" She said, sighing into the phone. "You should be here by now." She pointed out. Damn woman. 

"I can't just  _leave_  my house, you know. I have responsibilities! And a child! Unlike some of us," Yuri grumbled. "And I know what you're going to say--"

It was always the same conversation, with Mila. She never saw Yuri as a boss - rather, a superior who she felt the need to harass. Why didn't he ever fire her? It was like firing your own mother. She took care of him. 

"Get a nanny? Because yes, you should. And you know I'm right. And before you say anything-" She cut Yuri off as he began to make a noise of protest. "-Serafima will be fine with a stranger. There are licensed nannies. They sell nanny cams, you know. It isn't that difficult. I already started to look into nannies for you." 

"Serafima is a handful." He reminded her. Not that she needed reminding. 

Mila let out a long, long sigh. "You're making excuses, because you don't want to hand over your precious little girl to someone else. I get it. But you can't keep taking her to work with you!" 

Well, Mila was right on that one. Most of the time, he just brought Serafima to the office, and let the employees fawn over her. Sure, she had knocked over a few racks of fabric, and perhaps ruined an entire set of winter line designs, but otherwise, everyone loved her. Yuri just couldn't bear to let his little girl go. He wanted to be the father he never had; well, besides his grandfather, of course. But that was different, wasn't it? 

"I already have a few set up for you to interview." She said firmly. "And I'm not letting you say no. Understand?" 

"Yes, Mila." He grumbled, using his one free hand to pour the porridge into a bowl for Serafima, and then pour himself a cup of coffee. "Get the jam," he instructed his daughter, who toddled over to the fridge to get her favorite - cranberry jam, which was heavily applied to her food. 

"I'll see you in an hour," he snapped into the phone, before hanging up. He didn't have time to interview people for a nanny! And what if someone hurt his precious angel? What then? 

"Mmmmm!" The toddler hummed as she dug into her mostly-jam filled bowl of porridge, smearing the red jelly across her face. Yuri leaned on the counter and watched her from behind his coffee mug, where he smiled. Sure, these last three years had been terrifying to him, but he had managed to get through it all, hadn't he? 

"Come on, little monster," he said, having finished his bitter coffee, and she had become smeared in cranberry jelly. "Wash up, 'Fima, and get dressed. Papa has a very busy day today, so you will be sitting with Mila today." Serves her right, having to distract his little gremlin while he was in a meeting. 

"Papa! I want to go to Auntie Sara's house!" She stamped her foot. 

"You will have to take that up with Mila, Serafima, not Papa." He reminded her. The girl had grown fond of the company's top model and designer, Sara Crispino - also Mila's newest beau. She was a beautiful girl with a good heart; not that Yuri ever let that show. He did trust her, however; at least when it came to Serafima. 

Serafima's blonde head popped out from behind the door - a stylish child she was, with her black leggings and leopard print shirt, along with her heavy white fur jacket that Yuri took great measures to keep pristine. Do you know how hard it is to take cranberry jelly out of faux-mink?

"Well, you look very nice today,  _zvezda moya._ " He said, picking her up again, putting her onto his hip to carry her. "Will you braid papa's hair today?" He asked, setting her on his bed as he began to change. A simple black tshirt, his dress pants, and a rather gaudy tiger coat. At this point, simple was much easier for him, but he still needed that personal touch that made him famous. 

He sat before her on the bed and allowed her tiny hands to work. His hair was to his mid-back now, and she always loved to play with it. Even if it meant that she was yanking on his hair. But it did relax him, and he felt his eyes drifting shut. It didn't last long, as she tied his hair with the band he had provided her, and she shrieked with happiness. "Done!"

"Very good." He patted her on the head and went to grab his designs that had him up until the early morning. They were to be revealed soon to a designer in St. Petersburg who he wished to work with soon; renowned designer Victor Nikiforov. A longtime friend, and at one point in his life, a mentor. But that did not mean this would be a walk in the park; rather, that this would be a lot harder than normal. Nikiforov expected a lot out of him now, and he would really have to wow him at this upcoming meeting if he wanted to get further. 

Serafima was unusually quiet, as they began their drive to the office. Yuri looked in his rearview mirror at her, squinting. "What's wrong now?" He asked her. 

"Why do I not have two?" She asked, wrinkling her nose up. 

"Two what?" 

"Two of..." she searched for the word. "Alexei has two papa! But I have one!" She frowned again, cocking her head to the side. It was eerie, how much she reminded him of himself at that age. 

Alexei Nikiforov was the son of Victor, and his own partner, Katsuki Yuuri. The younger of the men was an up-and-coming designer, discovered by Nikiforov on Instagram. Known for his impeccable replicas of famous outfits, and with a little push from his older lover, he was moving fast in the fashion world. Together, they had adopted Alexei; and while Serafima had only met Alexei a few times in person, the two frequently had conversations via video chat. 

"Well, that is because Victor and Yuuri are married. And I am not. But who needs two papas when you have one who is better than those two combined?" He raised an eyebrow. That elicited a small laugh from his daughter, and for the moment, silenced her of the topic. 

Yuri had no time for dating. That wasn't to say he didn't want to, of course. But it was tiresome, weeding through the boring, the fam-seekers, the fanboys, and the men who weren't keen on a single dad. Besides, he was young. He didn't need love right now. He could wait. 

Sure, maybe he wished he had someone to spoon him, or maybe someone else to talk to other than Serafima or Mila. But he was busy. Who had time to talk, anymore? Focusing on the company was more important. 

The perks of being an important businessman was that you always had a parking spot. And it was the best parking spot - close enough to the door that Serafima wouldn't be outside in brisk wind for very long. She had already begun developing the sniffles, and he didn't need a sick baby on his hands, on top of a meeting with Nikiforov in a week. 

"Look who finally decided to show up for work!" Mila cooed, taking Serafima from his arms as soon as they had reached her desk.

"Auntie Mila, I want to see Auntie Sara." She said immediately. 

"Yes boss." Mila responded, saluting the blonde-haired toddler tyrant. "Yurio, you have a few memos waiting on your desk."

Yuri practically screeched. Like father like daughter? "Don't call me that stupid nickname, I'm going to kill Nikiforov for telling you that shit!" He retreated into his office with a huff; the sound of his daughter laughing faded when he closed the door. 

The office was spacious, with a black and white color scheme - a splash of orange here and there, where he had thrown a tiger knick-knack into the decorum. His chair was sat behind a glass desk - one with a frosted glass logo of his company. Yuri picked up the memos, flipping through the cream-colored notes vaguely. A few missed calls from Katsuki? Those would go unanswered. A shipment of the tiger print had finally come in, which was good news. 

 _Otabek Altin_. _Jean-Jacques Leroy. Phichit Chulanont._

Three names, scrawled onto the paper, with no other context. What the hell? 

Yuri dialed Mila's number on his phone. 

"Mila Babich-"

"Mila, I know you know who this is, you have caller ID. Anyway-" He rolled his eyes, and was sure she was doing the same thing. "What's with this vague note? Otabek Altin? Jean-Jacques Leroy? Phichit Chulanont? Should I know who these people are?" 

"They're nannies, your highness. They'll be here at one for interviews. You're welcome." _Click_. 

Was he the only one who remembered that Nikiforov would be here  _in a week_ , and he didn't have time to interview nannies? A knock came at his door, and he glanced down at his watch. 12:30. Fuck. 

The door opened, and he turned a glare on it. In popped the red-streaked head of his intern, Minami. The child shrinked under his gaze. "Sir." He said, very slowly. His Russian wasn't very good, but it was improving. "Your, ah, nannies are here!" 

"It's only 12:30." He pointed out. But an early prospect meant they were dedicated. That was a plus. He sighed, collapsing into his chair, before waving a finger at the air. 

"Send them in."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Yuri On Ice blog! Follow me: yurisplitsetsky.tumblr.com


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